


In Hell, I'll Be Good Company

by SoulUntraveled



Series: Bits and Pieces [2]
Category: Hunt: Showdown (Video Game), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Demon Hunters, F/M, Occult, Period-Typical Sexism, Speciesism, alternate 1890's, damnation and salvation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 07:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulUntraveled/pseuds/SoulUntraveled
Summary: newly minted Law-mammal Judith Hopps is sent from Zootopia to the swamps of the deep south to investigate the rumors of strange happenings in the Stillwater Bayou or rather the death of one Fox Outlaw in particular. What she found she had no way of being prepared for.A badge and a six shooter ain't much when Hell comes a-knocking.





	1. Chapter 1

In Hell, I’ll Be Good Company

_Heard from some of the new arrivals that the learned folks up North are callin’ it “The Louisiana Incident”. _

_A rather bland flavor of a name for a very nasty sorta business. I think they named it that on purpose. No doubt the good governor had his slimy paws in it, downplayin’ the shitstorm it really is. It’s a helluva lot less terrifyin’ then calling it what it really was anyway._

_Nah matter what those uppity city-slicker yankees call with is happening in the Stillwater Bayou the folks actually living with it are terrified… This… The things I seen, the things I done- things I hadda do..._

_I used ta think that writin’ down my sins is a great way ta git myself caught. All it takes is some nark or nosy law-man ta take a teensy peek and next thing I know I got irons weighin’ me down and a noose for a necktie._

_I used ta not be much of a God-fearin’ sort too, before all this. I ain’t seen no reason ta go to no confessional if I ain’t feelin’ remorse and a pocket full of green bills. Now though, I’d jump into some church and cling, cry and beg for the good reverend ta listen ta my sins-_

_Ya know, if there was a reverend ‘round these parts anymore that wasn’t tryin’ ta eat my face off…_

_So instead I’m takin’ ta writin’ down my sins, so that maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to save my soul once this is all over. _

_Or what is more likely the case I kick the bucket early, then whoever picks these pages off my rottin’ shamblin’ corpse will be able ta take what I scribbled down and mayhaps use what I learned ta live a little longer._

_If not then, well at least when I see ya in Hell, ya’ll be in good company…_

**-the first few pages from a blood soaked journal recovered from the resurrected corpse of a Red Fox suspected to be notorious outlaw “Wilde Red”. (Found in Healing Waters Church, Stillwater Bayou)**


	2. The Marshal

* * *

The Marshal

_ September 2nd, 1895: _

_ Three days ago at approximately ten-thirty I was roused from my place of duty at the Records Department (For the sixth month straight since becoming a Marshal I might add!) and summoned to Chief Deputy Marshal Bogo’s office, fully expecting another unwarranted tongue-lashing, or lecture on mania in bunny females. _

_ What I found waiting for me instead, much to my surprise and honest confusion, was Louisiana Governor Jack Savage sitting across the desk of Zootopia’s Chief Deputy Marshal. _

_ Before I had much a breath to wonder what Louisiana’s Governor was doing visiting Zootopia’s Marshal Office Chief Deputy Bogo beckoned me inside with a grimace as if he had Cholera dancing in his belly. (I took absolutely no satisfaction nor amusement from his expression, I assure you. I swear!) _

_ After a terse introduction atwixt the three of us Governor Savage got straight to the point, illustrating the tale of a minor outbreak of plague way out in the southern swamps of Louisiana. _

_ “It ain’t much cause fir alarm, I assure you.” The Hare politician had said in a refined country drawl. Do all southern gentlemen speak like him I wondered? It was not unpleasant to the ears. _

_ Governor Jack Savage of Louisiana is a well known sort of folk hero among my kind. The first lapine to become a governor of a state in the United States of Mammalia. I had seen photographs of the tall and lean statesman, but the photos failed to capture his handsome and rugged charm. His face was lean for a hare but a strong jaw with soft cheeks lined with three black stripes each below a button nose and blue eyes. _

_ Dare I describe the Good Governor that’s easily a decade my senior as… cute? _

_ “Those of low creed that dwells among those waters thankfully took the brunt of the sickness, and died with it.” The Governor continued. I came from my dreamy woolgathering and frowned. _

_ “Low creed Mr. Governor?” I had asked, whilst avoiding Chief Deputy Bogo’s Thunderous scowl at my audacity to speak to a male far above my station. _

_ Thankfully Governor Savage didn’t seem fazed by my speaking. Turning to me he gave me a meaningful look and said, “Predators my dear.” _

_ Relief had washed over me at hearing his words. So no one that really mattered then. _

_ Chief Deputy Bogo put aside the details on the outbreak as it was not much his concern. “Mr. Governor. Not that the Zootopia Marshal Office isn’t appreciative of your visit, it does beg the question, Why are you here so far North? Louisiana is near 4 states away.” _

_ The hare Governor straightened his coat, his tall ears standing proud, but his eyes… his eyes grew hard as steel and as sharp as glass as he spoke in a voice as chilled as a TundraTown blizzard. _

_ “Wild Red.” He spat the name as if it were scalding poison. _

_ I perked at the name, recognizing it from a few files I had pass across my desk down in records. A typical Fox with an atypical reputation. Despite being accused of over fifty accounts of murder, dozens more accounts of violent battery, and over 50,000 dollars in stolen funds no one had knowledge of his face, only his signature red and black bandana with the outline of a fox skull and teeth. _

_ “Wild Red the outlaw, Mr. Governor?” I asked. _

_ “Yes, my dear.” The steel in his gaze had not been enough to hide the icy rage that danced behind them. “I have found evidence that this outlaw has been found within the bounds of my dominion.” _

_ “Where Sir?” Chief Deputy Bogo asked. _

_ The Governor paused for a moment before coming to a decision. Sliding a paw into the folds of his coat Governor Savage withdrew a journal, ragged with dried filth and stained in old, darkened blood. _

_ Presenting the sullied snake skin book to the Chief Deputy the Governor replied, “In the Stillwater Bayou, just outside of the Lawson Delta.” _

_ Squaring his shoulders Governor Savage enunciated in an official voice, “ I formally request the assistance of the Zootopia Marshals in confirming the demise of this criminal.” _

_ The Chief Deputy took on an expression I had never seen before. “Is this why you specifically asked my only female rabbit Marshal to this meeting?” A familiar shadow of anger crept over the mountain of a cape buffalo, but refreshingly the Chief Deputy’s ire was not directed at myself for once. _

_ “You mean to ask me to send a young lady, and a bunny no less, into the depths of chomper infested swamps in the midst of a ravaging plague?!” The Chief Deputy’s words grew thunderous towards the end of his triade, enough to rattle the warped window glass in their frames. “WHAT CREATURE OF DEPRAVITY DO YOU TAKE ME FOR SIR?!” _

_ After the ringing in my ears subsided I found a sudden and strong will to prove myself bloom within my breast. The good Governor looked to have lost some of his steely bluster. Hardly willing to allow this to continue I spoke up. _

_ “Chief Deputy Marshal?” _

_ Chief Deputy Bogo snapped his beady gaze towards me, his words sharp as a whip. “Not. Now.” _

_ I must admit, the fury in his voice shook me to my core, yet still I persisted. _

_ “Chief Deputy Marshal, please allow me permission to speak on my behalf! Just for a moment, I implore you.” _

_ The Chief Deputy paused for a moment, then to my surprise snorted and waved me on. Not one to let an opportunity pass I addressed Governor Savage. _

_ “Mr. Governor, though I find myself flattered at your request for me, may I ask why choose me? Though I am admittedly eager I am hardly the most qualified for such an undertaking.” _

_ The Governor relaxed a bit, more at ease towards this line of inquiry at this level of volume. _

_ “Why, Vice-President Bellwether recommended you, confident in your abilities to accomplish the tasks the United States of Mammalia demands of her Marshals. You are the first of your species, and the first of your gender in this field Miss Hopps. With your exceptional track record in training I suspect a simple task as confirming the carcass of an outlaw is a foregone conclusion.” _

_ Governor Savage glanced towards Chief Deputy Bogo out of the side of his eye. “Am I and the Vice-President wrong in this assumption?” _

_ The Chief Deputy scowled, and even I felt a touch of apprehension. I may be young, but I am by no means lame in the head. I adore Vice-President Bellwether, the ewe politician is another female trail-blazer in government, paving the way for females and those of smaller species like me. We had even spoken for a time, and the Vice-President had been the one to pin my Marshal star on my chest. But despite my personal feelings towards the Vice-President even I can identify a political ploy when I see one. _

_ Still, political ploy or no, who am I to let such an opportunity to further myself slip through my grasp? _

_ I turned to my Chief Deputy, who frowned deeper in response but held his tongue, only snorting dismissively, hooves tied and helpless against a Vice-President’s word. With a confident smile flavored with no small amount of excitement I took the sullied and bloody journal from Governor Savage’s outstretched paw. _

_ “Mr. Governor, I would be honored. When do I leave?” _


	3. The Journal

_ September 19th, 1895: _

_ Second official account of U.S. Marshall Judith Laverne Hopps regarding the fugitive ambiguously dubbed “Wild(e?) Red”. _

  
  


_ I had exhausted my modest store of novellas a day and night out from Lawson Delta Station, the only civilized port of entry into Stillwater Bayou. The long trip proved to be a fortnight long, and a test of my patience. Though the Eastern Union Railroad is renowned for their comfortable travel accommodations, my present company left much to be desired. Turning to my well-worn paperbacks was my only solace from the constant chatter. _

_ Why is it that I had been personally requested by the Governor of Louisiana only to be placed in coach? Truthfully I do not mind mingling about with my fellow citizens, however my mission is of a sensitive nature. As bold as I was, even I wouldn’t dare produce something like that stained journal in polite company. Yet, without a modicum of privacy afforded to me how can I begin on my investigation post-haste if prying eyes linger about my shoulders and scorn my ears?! _

_ The answer to my dilemma was the sleeping car and the relative safety my meagre bed provided illuminated by the flickering light of a small oil lamp procured from a kindly porter. Judging I would be left alone for the moment I drew up my travel satchel and with some consternation produced the sullied journal. I regard myself as made of sterner stuff than most, my being a lapine doe aside… but that journal, even setting sight on this bloodied revolting relic sets my fur on end and skitters down my spine.  _

_ The volume was bound in snake-skin of browns and greens, a barbaric leather revered by the more savage and unevolved predatory populace. Feeling the back, scores from claw-marks, where desperate fingers raked into the slimy leather told a grim tale. Much of the recovered journal was seeped in dark, dried blood, its yellowed pages stained near black and hard, like infected scabs over a ragged wound. The spine was frayed, as if the madness it contained caused the very bindings that held this cursed tome to come undone.  _

  
  
  


_ My revulsion is a near-primal thing, writhing and desperate, one that sends my heart racing and my stomach churning.  _

_ I never did waver from my task, however. _

_ Trying to open the first page I discovered the parchment stuck fast by its bloody glue. I swallowed my nausea and produced my pen-knife from my satchel. The pages came unstuck one by one with a crackling squelch that turned my insides. With my unpleasant ordeal behind me I replaced my pen-knife into my satchel and opened the journal. _

_ I had thought perusing the poorly scribed ramblings of a lowborne scoundrel would fan the flames of my determination, faith in finding my anger at Wild Red’s vile confessions scratched on this pages would burn away my discontentment.  _

_ I thought I was ready. I believed myself steeled against what depravity or nonsense this Wild Red could have concocted.  _

_ I was not ready.  _

_ I was wrong. _

  
  
  
  



End file.
